Inner Eye Blind
by limonade
Summary: After falling off his broomstick, Harry goes blind, but gains the gift of sight in return. Professor Trelawney couldn’t predict this. HPLL Seer!Harry
1. Prologue: A Bad Thing

Summary: After falling off his broomstick, Harry goes blind, but gains "the sight" in return. Professor Trewalney couldn't predict _this_.

Pairing: Harry/Luna

**Inner Eye Blind**

Prologue: A Bad Thing

_Love is not blind; it's all seeing. It's not a mistake; it happens by accident._

The rush of wind in his ears drowned out the deafening cheering from the crowd. Figures rushed past in a blur of color as Harry dived for the snitch.

His eyes were focused solely on the fluttering golden ball, just as his seeker training had taught him to. His mind was empty of distractions – the only coherent thought running through his brain was to _get to the snitch_.

He gripped the wooden handle of his trusty Firebolt with sweaty, yet steady hands as he dodged a bludger.

Broomsticks were very important to Quidditch players. Speed was not the most important factor in buying a broomstick, contrary to popular belief. What, did you think all that polishing was just for show?

Plus, as his captain said, _"Get your lazy arse on a broomstick and practice, Potter!"_

Er, no, that's not quite right… the _other_ thing he always said…

"_A broom can only go as fast as you can fly it."_

Control was the key. What use was speed if it could not be harnessed?

The snitch was inches from his fingertips. _Just a little bit further…_

Because from Harry's extensive experience with disasters, he had learned that bad things happened when you were not in control.

And as Harry lost control of the broom stick and plunged down towards the ground, a bad thing did happen.

The last thing he saw was a flash of gold and white fluttering in front of his face.

…TBC!...

/\\

AN: Short, yeah… but it's just the prologue. I've got a few more pages written. If you like it, I might continue this.

Your reviews give me a reason to get out of bed early in the morning!


	2. Secrets

Summary: After falling off his broomstick, Harry goes blind, but gains "the sight" in return. Professor Trewalney couldn't predict _this_.

Pairing: Harry/Luna

Disclaimer: …My dad's a lawyer. Don't sue!

**Inner Eye Blind**

Chapter One: Secrets

Thousands of people watched as their savior plummeted towards the ground at breakneck speed.

He spiraled closer and closer to the ground, and showed no signs of slowing down.

It was only in the last moments before the impact that the crowd began to realize something was wrong. The noise in the stands died down as everyone held their breath and watched in horror. And by then, it was too late.

/\\

Harry Potter opened his eyes. And saw a black screen. Closing them, he tried again, only to see the same dark haze.

He was only dimly aware of his surroundings, but could tell that he was on something soft, and comfortable, and warm

"Harry?" came a voice. The voice was faint, and far away… and sounded vaguely familiar… Harry squinted, trying to make out a figure in the darkness.

"Hello?" He grasped the air in front of him, "Who's there?" he cried desperately.

Harry's heart was racing, blood was pounding through his veins when suddenly…

Harry suddenly felt very sleepy… and as his eyelids became unbearably heavy, he slipped into unconsciousness again.

/\\

The Hospital Wing was unusually quiet, Poppy Pomfrey noted sadly. It had been emptied to make room for only patients whose fates were interwoven with the future of the Wizarding World. Meaning, Harry Potter.

Green eyes were open and blinking curiously, but Harry did not seem to have noticed her presence.

"Harry?" Madame Pomfrey asked anxiously, forgetting formalities and waving a hand in front of his face.

"Hello?" he called, reaching out with his hand, grasping for something solid. "Who's there?" he seemed frightened, and Madame Pomfrey, who hated to see a patient in distress, took a syringe full of sedative potions and injected it into Harry's veins.

"Oh, dear," she whispered. There was nothing she could do to help him here.

/\\

"Any news of Harry, sir?" Hermione asked the Headmaster fretfully.

Dumbledore looked his two students, whose hopes he was about to crush, and sighed. "Mr. Weasley… Ms. Granger… you may want to sit down before I begin," he gestured wearily towards the chairs across from his desk. "Harry collided head-first into the ground at a speed of about 250 kilmeters per hour (1), and suffered irreversible brain damage."

Ron and Hermione were silent, waiting for further explanation.

Dumbledore sighed. "I'm afraid he's blind now."

"Where is he?" they immediately demanded.

/\\

Ward 612, on the sixth floor of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was top secret. It was a secret room, on a secret floor, and had a secret patient.

Harry Potter always seemed to be mixed up with secrets. Secrets and life-changing disasters tended to come hand in hand.

And secretly, his two best friends came to visit him. What followed consisted of several minutes of secret awkward silence.

"So," Hermione started, breaking the uncomfortable atmosphere, "How are you feeling, Harry?"

"Like I just fell off a broomstick," Harry replied dryly.

"Oh," Hermione said weakly, "I see - " she began, before gasping and covering her mouth. "I'm so sorry – I didn't mean to - "

Harry sighed in exasperation. "It's fine, Hermione."

"SORRY, MATE," Ron said in a slow, loud voice. "WE – DON'T – WANT – TO – BE – INSENSITIVE –JERKS!"

"I'm blind, not deaf, Ron," Harry said irritably. "Stop treating me like I'm an idiot."

"We know that, Harry," Hermione soothed, "We just want you to know that we're here to help you."

"Yeah? Well – I don't need any help! I can manage perfectly fine on my own." Harry declared. And, as if to prove his independence, he got out of bed and walked…

…Right into the wall.

"It's okay to ask for help. We're your friends, we don't mind helping you. That's what friends are for! In good times, in bad times - " (2)

"Oh, shut up!" Harry snapped.

"Look at it this way, mate," said Ron with all the enthusiasm and optimism he could muster, "Just because you won't be able to play Quidditch, and you let Gryffindor down in the biggest match of the year, not to mention put the entire Wizarding World you were supposed to save from You-Know-Who in danger, doesn't change anything," he explained logically.

Needless to say, Harry and Ron did not exactly… see eye to eye.

"Harry must have hit his head harder than we thought," Ron confided to Hermione as she dragged him from the secret room on the secret floor away from the secret patient.

Harry Potter's stay in St. Mungo's was a secret. So, naturally, the whole world found out.

/\\

/\\

AN: Next chapter: Luna makes her first appearance!

I think a Firebolt goes about 150 mph in 10 seconds.

I couldn't resist. Forgive me!


	3. The Crossfire

Summary: After falling off his broomstick, Harry goes blind, but gains "the sight" in return. Professor Trewalney couldn't predict this.

Pairing: Harry/Luna

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, this wouldn't be fanfiction. It would be canon. This is not canon.

_Note_: Obviously, Dumbledore is not dead in the story. I'm still not over Sirius and Cedric, I can't accept Dumbledore dieing too.

**Inner Eye Blind**

Chapter Two : The Crossfire

Reporters from every Wizarding newspaper in the world were gathered outside St. Mungo's, wielding quills and cameras; two of the most powerful weapons the media possessed.

They came from all over the world – UK, America, South America, Japan - but shared a common goal: to sell their stories. There simply wasn't enough pain and suffering in the world to write about, so they stretched the truth a bit.

Sometimes, the truth must be compromised for the sake of business.

Among the hundreds of reporters, dozens of cameras, and live broadcasts, stood Luna Lovegood. She was very excited about reporting a story for _The Quibbler_, even if it was a low-profile one like this.

When there is a high concentration of news correspondents in a small vicinity who are all covering the same story, it is inevitable that rumours are started and spread faster than the dragon pox epidemic of 1783. Which, incidentally, wiped out a quarter of the Wizarding population.

_I heard that he broke his fingers!_

_And his arm!_

_And his neck!_

Although they all had a common goal of reporting the most outlandish stories possible, the journalists were not allies. They were competitors, each trying to come up with the juiciest headline. All in the name of business, of course.

_He's broken his back!_

_He's paralyzed for life! _

It's not as if they genuinely cared whether or not Harry was hurt.

Well, they did care on some level.

They cared because it made a great headline. And they got paid to sell papers with that headline.

They cared because they needed Harry to kill Voldemort. And if Harry was missing in action, well, they were all screwed.

So, yeah, they cared about Harry's fate. Because his future held theirs too.

_He's brain dead!_

_He's in a coma!_

_It's a murder! They're just trying to cover it up!_

"Oh, he wasn't murdered," Luna interrupted off-handedly, "He was eaten by a Crumple-Horned Snorkack," she corrected.

The reporters laughed. They must not have ever seen a Crumple-Horned Snorkack.

"What do _you_ know, anyway?" one particularly rude reporter asked snidely.

"Oh, I know all about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks," she said, trying not to brag.

The reporter was about to ask what in Merlin's name was a Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, but he wisely decided against it. Perhaps he was smarter than he looked. Because Luna really _was_ an expert on the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, and was very willing to share her extensive knowledge on the fascinating subject.

Meanwhile, more rumours were brewing.

_It's a conspiracy within the Ministry of Magic itself!_

Now, Luna knew all about conspiracies, and this was not one. A real conspiracy was how the Ministry had a secret army of Heliopaths, and was using them to take over Gringotts. Or how Rufus Scrimgeour was a bloodthirsty vampire.

…Sometimes Luna worried about the Wizarding World. But at least people could always turn to _The Quibbler_ for a reliable, accurate news source.

Luna sighed.

It was a difficult job, enlightening the ignorant.

/\\

It was a difficult job, being the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

It was a lot of time, responsibility, and paperwork.

He wouldn't trade it for anything.

He had been Headmaster for 42 years (1). During that time, he had given one press conference, on the night Harry was orphaned. He knew that this particular conference, however, would be very different.

The accident had been so public, there was no way he could hide it from the Wizarding community.

He swallowed his guilt. He could not show weakness.

As the doors of St. Mungo's opened, and the weathered face of Albus Dumbledore came into view, the cameras begin to flash like bombs and questions were fired like bullets like carnivorous animals pouncing on their prey.

This was a war zone.

/\\

"Mr. Dumbledore, where is Harry Potter being treated in St. Mungo's?" Roland Gatsbey from _Rowling Stone_ (3) asked impatiently.

"I'm afraid his exact location cannot be revealed. He is in good care."

The crowd began to murmur at this. Gatsbey raised his eyebrows skeptically and scribbled a note on his parchment.

"What is the nature of his injuries?"inquired a journalist from Hippocrates' Herald, fighting to get through the crowd.

"Mr. Potter sustained significant damage to the occipital lobe," Dumbledore explained, going into genius mode, " which is the visual processing center of the mammalian brain."

It took a few moments for the meaning of that to sink in. And then, hell broke loose.

"Is there a cure?"shouted the Unofficial Harry Potter Newsletter over the noise.

"While magical medicines have greatly advanced, there remains no magical treatment effective in healing the eyes," Dumbledore said gravely, thinking of a certain ex-Auror. The murmurs grew into cries of disbelief.

"Isn't it true that you were present at the scene of the accident? Why didn't you do anything to prevent it?" demanded Rita Skeeter, correspondent for the Daily Prophet.

Dumbledore heaved a heavy sigh. "As you all know, Quidditch is a very dangerous sport. Mr. Potter is… was an excellent flyer, known for his daring stunts, such as the _Wronski Feint_. An old man's blunder…"

And Harry Potter would pay for it.

TBC

/\\

What did you think of Luna? I know there wasn't much of her in this chapter, but I loved writing her.

I know it's not long, I'm sorry! I'm trying! It's about 200 words longer than the last chapter. This was kind of all about the Wizarding Media, which might seem like a bit of a waste, but I find it incredibly important.

(1) According to http/ If your really interested in that kind of stuff: http/en. The name has a history: http/ to: **RedCat8**, **Snakemaster**, and **luna me and the slithery-dee**

All my work as of now is _unbetaed_, so if anyone out there would be kind enough to look over my chapters beforehand and help me work out the kinks in the plot, I'd be forever grateful! If not, review and I'll still be forever grateful!


	4. Remus' Woes

Summary: After falling off his broomstick, Harry goes blind, but gains "the sight" in return. Professor Trewalney couldn't predict this.

Pairing: Harry/Luna

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, this wouldn't be fanfiction. It would be canon. This is not canon.

**Chapter Four: **Remus' Woes

The sky was a clear, crisp blue as the sun rose. A rather exhausted tawny owl clutching a folded newspaper in it's talons perched itself on the windowsill of an old, dilapidated house and waited a few moments before proceeding to tap on the window incessantly with it's beak.

A bleary eyes Remus Lupin came in with a mug of coffee in one hand and a piece of unbuttered toast in the other, and opened the cracked window. The owl flew in, and dropped the copy of _The Daily Prophet_ on the floor, and landed back on the window, clicking it's beak expectantly.

"Right," Lupin remembered, "You'll need to be paid." He could have sworn that the owl rolled it's eyes. "I'm sure I've got some spare knuts lying around somewhere," he muttered to himself, looking around the room. He found one under the thin, lumpy mattress of his bed, two on the stained coffee table, and one in the pocket of his tattered robes.

He offered the four knuts to the owl, who turned it's beak up in distaste.

"Oh, come on," Lupin implored, "I know I'm one knut short, but can't I just pay it back later?" he asked, pushing the knuts towards the owl, which stared back at Remus with it's wide, round eyes. Remus sighed. Jobs had been scarce since his time as a Professor. Unemployment was taking it's toll, and Remus was left knutless.

As his stomach growled at him loudly, Remus got an idea.

"How about this," he suggested to the owl, breaking off a piece of the stale toast, "Four knuts _and_ breakfast."

The owl eyes the bread longingly, and then suddenly swooped down and snatched it from Remus' fingers. Smiling, Remus put the four knuts in the small leather pouch on the owl's leg. With a final hoot, the owl flew out the open window.

Remus turned and picked up the newest edition of _The Daily Prophet_. He sat down made himself comfortable in a stiff, rickety wooden chair, and smoothed out the front page.

**BOY-WHO-LIVED BLINDED!**

Thoughts raced through Remus' mind. It could be meant metaphorically, or it could just be another story made up by the tabloids. He frowned, swallowed large gulp of coffee, and continued reading.

_Harry Potter, also known as the "Chosen One" and the Boy-Who-Lived, was blinded trying to catch the snitch in a Quidditch match yesterday. Pressure from the public forced Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts to give a press conference explaining this tragedy. According to Dumbledore, Mr. Potter's condition was caused by "significant damage to the occipital lobe". Adds an anonymous, but reliable source, "Harry's not taking it very well". As for whether or not the boy can be cured by the Healers he is in care of at St. Mungo's, Dumbledore does not see the possibility of it, stating that "there_ _remains no magical treatment effective in healing the eyes." It has-_

Remus tore his eyes from the article and stopped reading. If Dumbledore had said it, then he had to believe it.

He threw on his cloak and left immediately to talk to Dumbledore, abandoning his coffee on the table to get cold.

/\\

St. Mungo's had been infiltrated by reporters attempting to pose as Healers undercover, so Harry had been moved back to the Hogwarts Infirmary. Everybody figured that it was safest to be close to Dumbledore, and the Healers at St. Mungo's couldn't help anyway.

Harry heard footsteps approaching, followed by an enthusiastic "Hello, Harry! Glad to see you weren't eaten by the Snornaks."

"Me too, Luna," Harry said glumly, not looking glad at all. He knew it was Luna immediately - who else would say something so peculiar?

"I brought you some candies," she said, placing them in the palm of Harry's hand.

"Thanks," Harry said graciously, touched by the thoughtful gesture. He fumbled with the wrapper for a few moments, and then popped the candy in his mouth. The chocolaty candy melted in his mouth, and he savored the taste. "This is delicious," he said, surprised. In the back of his mind he had half-expected it to be something ghastly.

"Where did you get these?" Harry asked. He couldn't remember tasting anything this delicious, except perhaps Mrs. Weasley's cooking.

"Oh, Fred gave it to me," Luna said nonchalantly. "He's the one who helped me get into the Infirmary. He's quite nice, you know," she informed Harry.

Harry stopped chewing immediately and dropped the rest of the candies as if they were poison. You never knew what the Weasley twins would come up with next…

He felt a strange tingle rush through his body, but couldn't tell what had happened.

"Harry, I think I should tell you: You've just turned green," Luna said politely.

Harry exhaled in relief. It could easily have been worse. Besides, it's not as if he was able to see how ridiculous he looked.

"Perhaps you've had an allergic reaction," she said, holding up the candy and inspecting it closely.

"Something like that, yeah," Harry agreed.

"So," Luna started, sounding far more solemn than usual, "How are you?"

Harry hated this question. There seemed to be no right answer to it.

"I'm… well, I'm alive," he answered, "But I've got a feeling that life is going to be a lot different from now on."

"Look at the bright side," Luna said optimistically, "You don't need to wear your glasses anymore!"

"Yeah… and I'll never have to look at Dudley's ugly face anymore!" Harry added, cheering up a bit at this realization.

"Who's Dudley?" Luna asked curiously.

"He's my cousin - he's practically half-man, half-whale," Harry explained, spreading his hands far apart to demonstrate the size of Dudley's enormous bulk.

"Really?" Luna said, interested in this Dudley character.

"Pretty much," said Harry. As far as he was concerned, it was an accurate description. "But next to my Uncle Vernon, Dudley's hardly fascinating," he said dismissively with a wave of his hand.

"Is your uncle half-goat?" Luna guessed.

"No," Harry admitted, "But if you mention magic enough, his face turns a brilliant shade of purple." Harry reminisced, who had himself caused this reaction several times. Harry had always admired that ability … from a distance, of course.

"Speaking of turning funny colors, your green skin is fading," Luna said, sounding a bit disappointed. "Does color-changing run in your family?" she asked.

"Not that I know of," Harry said, "Although I really wouldn't want to have inherited anything from the Dursleys," he said, shuddering at a mental image of himself with Uncle Vernon's mustache.

"So your cousin is half-whale, and your Uncle turns purple," Luna summarized. "They must think you are horribly boring," she concluded.

"You'd be surprised, " Harry said with a laugh. "Besides," he added, with a hint of bitterness tainting his voice, "The papers don't seem to find me boring at all,"

"Oh, they've got their priorities mixed up," Luna said. "Most people do."

Harry pondered that for a moment. He decided that he had never met someone who was as clever by accident as Luna Lovegood.

/\\

Remus Lupin burst in through the doors to the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore stood up, but before he could speak Remus was leaning over the desk, shoving the Dailiy Prophet headline under his nose.

"Tell me it's not true," Remus pleaded, holding onto the hope that perhaps, by some strange inexplicable miracle, it was all a joke, or a publicity stunt, or Fool Remus Lupin Day.

"Remus…" Dumbledore sighed "I'm truly very sorry," he apologized, trying to force the gnawing guilt towards the back of his mind.

"No," Remus insisted flatly, with a slightly hysterical look in his eyes, "Not Harry… Albus, what – why – how in the world is Harry going to survive?" he asked, leaving the daunting question suspended in the thin silence.

"That's a question we'd all like the answer to," Dumbledore murmered after a few moments of thought, absentmindedly twirling the end of his beard and looking off towards the pensive in the corner.

Remus' entire body sagged with the weight of his grief. "What – what would James - " he choked, unable to finish the thought.

Dumbledore placed a comforting hand on Remus' shoulder. "James would want you to love his son as if he were your own," he stated plainly.

"I already do," Remus said softly.

/\\ /\\ /\\ /\\

:AN: Sorry it took me soooooo long to update, school's already started up and my teachers waste no time. They're all talking about the AP Tests. Which are in May.

But you don't want to hear my excuses!

THANKS TO:

**RedCat8**,

**Snakemaster**,

**Luna me and the slither-dee**,

**CSI3Lyra**,and

**Nevermore Burning**

Special thanks to **Snakemaster **forbeing a wonderful beta! And thanks to everyone else who offered, I really appreciate your support!


	5. A Prophecy

Summary: After falling off his broomstick, Harry goes blind, but gains "the sight" in return. Professor Trewalney couldn't predict this.

Pairing: Harry/Luna

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, this wouldn't be fanfiction. It would be canon. This is not canon.

**Chapter Five: **A Prophecy

After several minutes of begging, pleading, and coaxing the school nurse, Remus was

permitted to enter into the "Harry Potter Ward". The boy had earned a special place in the Hogwarts Infirmary for all his frequent visits.

Remus wondered why he had never received his own part of the Infirmary during his school years, as he ended up there once a month without fail. Poppy retorted that James and Sirius had received detention every _day_, but they never got their own classroom, so why should Remus get his own infirmary? Remus cringed slightly as the bittersweet memories flooded his mind. He had several memories of James and Sirius in detention; that was how they had spent the majority of their school career.

"Harry," Lupin greeted, trying not to let his voice betray the whirlwind of emotions. Merlin knew Harry had enough emotions of his own to deal with now. "It's me, Remus," he added uncertainly.

"Professor Lupin!" Harry exclaimed. He was still in a decidedly irritable mood, butt the disarmingly cheerful effects of Luna's visit were still in effect. "How are you?" Harry asked, who had not seen his former Professor since many moons ago.

"I'm managing just fine," Remus lied, inflecting his voice with false optimism.

Harry couldn't see the bags under Remus' eyes, or his sallow skin, or his tattered clothing, but he could hear the lie in Remus' voice.

"Just because I'm blind doesn't mean that I'm stupid," Harry said crossly. He was sick of people tiptoeing around him and ignoring him his whole life. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't made of crystal glass.

Remus had the grace to be embarrassed upon being caught.

"I've never thought you were stupid Harry. Just too brave for your own good," Remus admitted. "But I did not come here to bore you with tales of my life, I came to hear about you, a far more interesting person than myself," Remus joked weakly.

"Interesting?" Harry repeated skeptically.

"There are far worse things to be than interesting," Remus said seriously. "Naturally, the world wants to understand you and feel like they know you."

"They don't know me," Harry spat bitterly.

"Maybe you just never gave them a chance to," Remus suggested quietly.

"I know how you feel," he soothed, "What it's -"

"You've got no idea what it's like," Harry all but exploded, his voice slightly hoarse, "They don't give a _damn_ what happens to me- if I live or die- just as long as I take Voldemort down with me first! You don't know what it's like to be judged by the world, _just because of who you are_!"

"Don't I?" Remus challenged.

Harry fell silent.

"You feel helpless, abandoned: a strange mixture of infuriating anger and intimidating fear that makes you want to scream and cry at the same time," Remus said, knowing all to well what it was like to be judged unfairly.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, looking somewhat bewildered and relieved that someone could accurately describe the rush of emotions he was feeling. "It's– it's like that. H-How did you know?"

"It's how I felt when I was bitten," Remus stated somberly.

He had only been a small, innocent child, who had no way of knowing that his nighttime stroll into the woods would give him a curse that would haunt him throughout his entire life. He had often reflected upon that night, replaying the entire event in his mind with painstaking detail, wondering how things might be different if he had not been bitten. But it was futile to linger in the past; the memories only brought more pain.

Shoving the memories of the tragic werewolf bite to the back of his mind, where they would remain until the next full moon, Remus looked around for some way to divert this conversation back on course. He noticed a candy wrapper with the words "DANGER: product of WWW" in tiny print.

"Has anyone else visited you?" Remus asked. He was sure that Harry had not gotten the chance to go to Hogsmeade in light of recent events, and was positive that Poppy had not given him any candy, or, as she called it, "teeth-rotting sugar potions".

"Oh, Ron and Hermione came to visit a while ago, and I, er, sort of yelled at them," Harry said sheepishly.

"Yes, you seem to be doing that a lot lately," Remus said with a calm smile.

Harry's face turned red with apology. "Sorry, Professor…"

"Remus," the older man corrected automatically.

"Sorry, it's just hard to remember you're not a teacher anymore when you always seem to be correcting me," Harry explained.

"I don't have to be a teacher to help you, Harry," Remus reminded him. "You can come to me with anything- not just homework."

Harry smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."

"So," Remus started casually, "where did you get this seemingly harmless piece of candy?"

"Nothing about Fred and George is harmless," Harry warned.

"I take it their joke shop is doing well, then?"

"I guess so… last I heard they were producing products geared towards defense- you know, like Shield Hats, Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder…. I haven't seen them for quite a bit. Luna Lovegood's the one who gave me the candy."

"Luna Lovegood?" Remus said in disbelief.

"I doubt she knew what it was," Harry added. "I bet no one's ever warned her to never take anything from the twins."

"I just didn't realize that you knew the Lovegood family," Remus said.

"Oh, I just know Luna from school; she's a year below me. Her dad's an editor for _The Quibbler_, which is full of rubbish, but it's relatively entertaining just the same. I gave it an interview once, about how Voldemort was back. Luna was part of the DA. She once cast a stunner so powerful it knocked Ron out cold. She was there with me in the Department of Mysteries…" Harry stopped there, unable to continue; his mind was stuck, his tongue frozen, and his heart skipped a few beats. He simply couldn't bring himself to mention Sirius.

It was painfully silent for a few moments. Knowing what Harry was thinking, Remus put a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder, urging him to let his bottled emotions out.

"I still miss him," Harry confessed quietly. Remus didn't have to ask whom Harry was talking about. "I still think about it, about how it's _all my fault…_"

"Don't feel guilty," Remus said firmly. "There was no other way he would have rather gone: he did what he needed to. As we all must."

"What am _I_ supposed to do?"

Remus looked at the brave young man in front of him and smiled sadly.

"Right now," Remus said, brushing back Harry's bangs out of his unseeing eyes, "Just be Harry."

Harry opened his mouth to reply, when suddenly his body went rigid. His eyes widened, the bright emerald irises faded to a pale green, and the dilated pupils seemed to stare at something far away that Remus could not see.

"Poppy!" Remus called urgently. The nurse came rushing in, and gasped at the sight of Harry, who was now convulsing.

"What did you do?" she asked Remus accusingly, before she began casting spells and frantically searching for potions.

"_THE FINAL BATTLE APPROACHES," _Harry spoke.

Poppy immediately dropped the potions she had been holding, and Remus leaned closer to listen to the haunting words. It couldn't possibly be the Harry speaking, Remus thought, because Harry's voice had never sounded so harsh, so strange, nor had his words ever echoed throughout the room with such an eerie, ominous quality…

"_THE COURT'S JUDGEMENT WILL BE DISOBEYED,_

_THE JESTERS WILL DISAPPEAR IN THE RISING FLAMES_

_VICTORY IS HIDDEN IN THE FOREIGN SHADOWS."_

Harry's body gave a great shudder, and his eyes slowly brightened back to their original green hue and blinked a few times as Harry seemed to come out of a deep sleep.

"What- what was that?" Remus asked weakly. His heart was beating so fast, he thought it would burst out of his ribcage.

Harry looked disoriented, and was clutching the bed sheets at his side as if he could not believe they were solid.

"I saw… something," Harry said in his normal voice, except with a bit more confusion. "I saw a flash of green, and fireworks…"

"This is beyond my knowledge," Poppy acknowledged, although she did not look happy at the thought. "We ought to tell Albus before we do anything."

So a fire call and a trip through the Hogwarts Floo Network later, the Headmaster sat in a conjured squishy armchair at Harry's bedside, listening closely to the story of Harry's vision and prophecy.

"It seems that Harry here has more of an inclination towards Divination than was previously thought," Dumbledore mused.

"How?" Poppy asked curiously, the medical part of her eager to learn how such a bizarre event happened, the motherly part concerned for Harry's welfare. A mixture of these two sides is what made her an excellent nurse.

"When Harry collided with the ground, his occipital lobe was damaged, rendering his eyes blind… but, it would appear that this is only a physical limitation. Unless I am mistaken, and I am reasonably sure that I am not, Harry is a Seer."

"But- that's impossible!" Harry blurted out. "I can't see anything in tea leaves, or crystal balls, or any of that rubbish."

"It would not be wise to base your opinion on a branch of magic on a single teacher," Dumbledore wisely replied, eyes twinkling knowingly.

Still, Harry found himself wishing that he had not fallen asleep in Divination class so often.

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**AN: **Seer!Harry… finally! I hope you all liked it. Luna will be back in future chapters, so don't worry. Anyway, I'm curious to hear your guesses as to what the prophecy means!

THANKS TO: _Nocturnal007, jpg05804, Ragnhild, almostinsane, CSI3Lyra, LiYinBlake, azamystic, and RedCat8._ Special thanks to my beta, _Snakemaster_! Any mistakes you see here are solely remnants of my stupidity.


	6. Professor Trelawny

Summary: After falling off his broomstick, Harry goes blind, but gains "the sight" in return. Professor Trewalney couldn't predict this.

Pairing: Harry/Luna

Disclaimer: I am only JK Rowling in my wildest dreams. Being sued for it happens in my worst nightmares.

**Chapter Six: Professor Trelawny**

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If Dumbledore's theory was correct, and they almost always were, it was apparent that Harry would need to be properly educated about the "subtle art" of divination by a true master.

Unfortunately, there were no masters at Hogwarts. Only insane teachers.

"My child, the celestial beings have bestowed upon you a wondrous gift – but also a burdensome curse… You must train your Inner Eye to See beyond…" Professor Trelawny gestured vaguely out the window.

"Okay," Harry said uncertainly, very unhappy at being privately tutored by the teacher who hadn't expected him to survive his third year at Hogwarts.

"We shall begin with some relaxation techniques, in order to lull the mind into a deep trance. Breathe deeply," she instructed Harry, "breathe in and out."

Harry knew perfectly well how to breathe, and did not like being told how to. Nevertheless, he followed directions and breathed deeply through his nose. As soon as he inhaled, he was overcome with a sweet, perfumed aroma, which promptly made him sneeze.

"Shhhh!" Trelawny hastily quieted her pupil, "You will disturb the spirits…" she whispered, as if said spirits were hanging right above their heads and listening into their conversation.

Harry insincerely mumbled an apology. "Right. Sorry."

"You are forgiven, dear," Professor Trelawny told him with a touch of annoyance. "Just- do try and concentrate."

But Harry found it even more difficult to concentrate now than he did during class. He was more likely to fall asleep than fall into a trance. There were so many distractions diverting Harry's attention: the thickly perfumed atmosphere in the air, the sweet aftertaste of the tea on his tongue, the moist steam rising from the teapot, the joyous chirping of the birds outside the window...

And so, as usual, most of Professor Trelawny's words got lost in the space between her mouth and Harry's ears.

About a quarter of an hour later, Harry's head was resting in his hands and his eyes were halfway shut when he heard several footsteps approaching. His head shot up immediately.

"Who is that?" he asked, suddenly feeling awake and alert.

"What is who?" Professor Trelawny asked confusedly, looking at Harry as if he were insane.

Harry was giving that same look to Professor Trelawny.

"Don't you hear that?" he asked incredulously. "Someone's coming- there's a lot of them – about seven or eight people," Harry estimated, cupping his ear slightly to enhance the sound.

"Nonsense," Professor Trelawny brushed the idea aside, "If there was unexpected company, _I_ would certainly know - "

But what Professor Trelawny would have certainly known, Harry never found out, because right then the door handle was turned with a soft click and opened with a creak.

There was a loud sob of joy, and Harry felt himself enveloped in several pairs of arms.

"Excuse me, we are in the middle of a _very_ important Seer training lesson," Professor Trelawny said tersely.

"Oh, we didn't mean to interrupt," said a kind voice in regret.

"The Headmaster told us Harry would be here," said a deep, gruff voice, who did not sound sorry for intruding at all.

The Divination Professor gave a long, dramatic, exaggerated sigh.

"Very well," she lamented, "It is unlucky to teach when the moon is in the house of Jupiter anyways." And with a swish of her robes and a few loud stomps, she marched out.

"It's _always_ unlucky to be taught by her," muttered a very familiar voice.

"Ron!" Harry exclaimed, and upon recognition his lips spread into a huge grin.

"Hey, mate, we heard you were stuck up here with that old bat and we figured we'd come and save you from another unavoidable, gruesome death." Ron said with a smile.

"Hey- sorry for exploding on you guys before," Harry said sheepishly.

"Don't worry about it," the voice of Hermione said lightly, "It was too soon. We understand. But now that you're safe to be around, we brought some people who want to talk to you."

"We should talk to him in order of stupidest to smartest. You can go first, Ickle Ronnikins." said a voice that sounded suspiciously like Fred Weasley's.

"Not so fast," said the harsh voice from before. "Oldest to youngest."

"Awww," groaned several voices.

"You heard the man," said another voice. "Come on, you lot…" and many footsteps were heard shuffling away reluctantly.

"Potter," said the gruff voice, "I'm going to be direct with you here. Without your sight, you need to be alert and prepared for anything!"

"Constant vigilance," Harry said with a small smile.

"Yes," said Mad-Eye Moody approvingly, "And to make sure you _are_ constantly vigilant, the Headmaster has arranged for you to get your arse out of a hospital bed and back into shape."

Harry frowned. He couldn't walk around, let alone duel.

"What do you mean?" he asked carefully.

Moody patted Harry on the shoulder with the intent of reassuring him, but only succeeded in shaking him rather violently.

"You'll see," He said mysteriously, and Harry heard him limp away. Harry would never admit it, but he felt extremely nervous.

The next visitor was Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Molly was obviously trying to keep the hysterical edge out of her voice as she comforted him, while Arthur told awkward jokes that were not remotely funny, but Harry appreciated his efforts to lighten the mood.

When Fred and George came to talk to Harry, the first thing they did was apologize for their prank earlier.

"It was just too easy," Fred explained.

"We couldn't resist!" said George.

"Ah, I see how it is," Harry teased, "You can only pull off a prank on a blind person now. And technically - it wasn't even you! Luna did most of it without knowing."

"Hey!" complained George. "We resent that."

"We'll make it up to you. Business is booming; you can have any WWW product you want, free of charge!" Fred offered.

"I might actually hold you to that promise one day," Harry said seriously.

"Harry!" Fred said dramatically, "How could you doubt us? You're like the brother we never had!"

"You have four brothers," Harry pointed out.

"Well, you're like a brother that we actually like."

"Not to mention that your our primary benefactor, co-founder, partner in crime, and an honorary Weasley," George added. "We would adopt you as an actual Weasley, but you'd have to dye your hair red."

"Yeah, we're looking for a replacement brother anyway, there's a spot to fill," Fred said.

"Thanks," Harry said appreciatively, "But I don't think I'd look good as a redhead."

"Well, if you're sure, at least take these," George insisted, handing Harry some toffees. "We didn't do anything to them, promise."

Harry was about to express his doubt at that statement, but when he made contact with George's hand, a jolt shot up his arm and he suddenly saw a flash of green flames. He distantly heard an explosion, and sinister laughter…

He immediately jerked his hand away from George, and the flames and laughter disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared, but Harry's hand was still tingling uncomfortably.

"Hey, mate, are you okay?" George asked in a concerned voice.

"Yeah," Harry muttered, rubbing his hand, "It was probably just static electricity or something…"

"Okay," the twins said somewhat uneasily. They lingered awkwardly before giving an unsure "Bye, Harry".

As the twins walked away, Harry covered his ears, wishing the evil laughter would stop echoing.

tbc…

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**AN: **Sooooooooooooooo, what did you all think? It took me a while to write the ending, but I hope you like it. Please review!

**THANKS TO:**

almostinsane, Marikili68, SwiftShadow, azamystic, thekecmaster, and HarrySlytherinson!

You guys are the best!

Special thanks to my beta, SNAKEMASTER, for fixing my stupid mistakes

-limonade


	7. Mad Eye

Summary: After falling off his broomstick, Harry goes blind, but gains "the sight" in return. Professor Trewalney couldn't predict this.

Pairing: Harry/Luna

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, something for which I am sure JKR is thankful.

**Chapter Seven: Mad-Eye**

The first rays of sunlight crept through the windows, illuminating the hidden figure crouching in the shadows.

Harry was sleeping restlessly, tossing his head anxiously from side to side. His face was ashen and pale, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he muttered incoherently in the midst of his nightmare.

The figure deftly approached Harry's bedside, and a soft _clunk_ echoed through the room every other step. Upon reaching the bed, he jolted Harry awake with a sharp motion.

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--

Harry awoke to an unfamiliarly cold, firm hand on his shoulder and a sense of primal panic was awakened. He swiftly sat up, simultaneously drawing his wand from under his pillow, and pointed in the direction of the intruder's hand.

"Put that away, Potter," a said firm voice.

'_Moody_' Harry recognized immediately, and lowered his wand in relief. His heart was still racing though, and he could swear that his entire body was shaking with each heartbeat.

"Listen up," the ex-Auror demanded, in a tone that left no room for a choice.

Normally, Harry was not a very good listener. In fact, he had loads of experience _not_ listening. But despite this tendency, Harry found himself hanging onto Moody's every word.

"Dumbledore has arranged for you to be sent away- _far_ away- away from prying eyes and nosy ears," he paused for a moment and lowered his voice even further so that it was barely audibly to Harry, who was no more than a couple of inches away. "Take this portkey," Moody spoke urgently, placing a round object in Harry's hand discreetly and holding onto it. And without any warning whatsoever, Moody whispered "_Sherbet_" and Harry felt a familiar, yet uncomfortable pull at his navel as if being sucked into a vacuum.

He landed on a hard, stone floor. Luckily, or rather, _un_luckily for Harry, his back was there break the fall.

Porkeys were never his preferred method of transportation.

A rough, calloused hand helped Harry onto his feet, and it took a moment for Harry to assess what he could of his surroundings. Well, the floor was pretty damn solid, for starters.

"We're in a Safe House, warded by Dumbledore himself to keep Death Eaters, reporters, and You-Know-Who out," Moody said, answering Harry's unspoken question. '_And to keep me in' _Harry thought sullenly.

"Why am I here?" Harry asked, figuring that he may as well find out now rather than later.

"To train," was the concise answer. Harry heard the rest of the sentence that was implied… '_for the final battle'. _

"When do we start?" Harry questioned, somewhat dreading the answer.

Hardly a second went by before Moody replied, "_Now!_" and sent a jet of red light towards Harry.

Harry felt the rush of compressed magic streaming towards him, like a bullet in slow motion, and jumped out of the way. Behind him, Harry could hear a piece of the stone wall crumbling.

He didn't have much time to register his shock that Moody was _attacking_ him, because more spells kept coming, one after the other, and sometimes even two simultaneously. Harry's heart was pounding even harder against his ribcage now as he moved faster and faster as the pace of the spells increased. He even resorted to hiding behind a table he stumbled into to catch his breath.

Harry was panicking, and his sweaty hand held his forgotten wand limply at his side. He was on the defensive, and his only goal at the moment was not to get hit by one of Moody's spells, all of which were probably dangerous, if not deadly.

His mind was reeling with frantic thoughts, all the while sending messages to his body to keep moving…

'_Was this really Moody?'_

'_Was it all a set-up by Voldemort?'_

Harry cursed his own stupidity for taking a portkey from Hogwarts- where he would have been _safe_, where he _wouldn't_ have spells shot at him from every direction...

'_I'm going to die.'_

Harry silenced these negative thoughts in order to focus on the sound of each spell shooting towards him. He concentrated on the sound of the air being displaced, the magic crackling like channels of electricity…

He heard the _clunk _of a mechanical leg moving, the vibrations of each spell impacting the wall and echoing ominously throughout the room.

Finally, Harry was hit by a body-binding curse and fell backwards like a tree falling in a forest. Harry winced as his frozen body hit the cold, hard stone once again. He sat there, vulnerable, holding his breath…

'_I'm going to die.' _

The thought raced across his mind like a mantra, and the acceptance of the fact did not ease Harry's nerves. Harry did not fear death, for he had faced it and come to terms with it long ago, but he never thought that he would die like _this_, paralyzed, not even able to see his attacker's face.

Then, Moody murmured a spell, and Harry felt a tingling sensation return to his body. He regained the ability to move, and immediately scrambled to his feet. Finally remembering the wand in his right hand, he brandished it towards where he thought Moody was, his hand shaking like mad.

"Relax, Potter," Moody said from behind him in as non-threatening of a tone possible, "I'm not going to hurt you. Do you really think I was _aiming_ for _you_?" Harry lowered his wand slightly in surprise as Moody continued, "If this had been a trap, you would have been already killed. Next time, when someone offers you a portkey, be more cautious," he reprimanded.

'_This was all a lesson' _Harry realized. '_That was all a test'_. He felt a surge of anger at having been strung along, at this entire ridiculous situation. But then, he realized that the ex-Auror was right. It was frightening to consider the possible consequences of taking another portkey straight to Voldemort, but this time, blind.

Moody had been impersonated before, by Barty Crouch Jr, and, well, Harry didn't want to dwell on those memories. If this had been a set up, Harry would be dead, simple as that.

"Although," Moody reflected, perhaps feeling obligated to be uncharacteristically optimistic for Harry's sake, "Your reflexes seem to be far above average. That's a fairly good start".

'_The result of dodging Dudley's punches for years'_ Harry thought bitterly to himself.

Harry heard the sound of Moody's artificial leg clink against the stone as he walked to the table Harry had taken refuge behind earlier. Moody conjured two stiff wooden chairs- '_nothing like Dumbledore's squishy armchairs_' Harry thought as he sat uncomfortably- and two cups of lukewarm tea, and the two of them sat down to business.

"Well, now that you're finally properly awake, we need to set a training agenda," Moody said seriously, as if they had just finished a sick version of a warm up.

But Harry did not feel awake at all… he felt _exhausted_. The idea of going back to Hogwarts, crawling into his warm bed, sliding underneath the soft cotton sheets and falling back asleep, however restless that sleep may be, was irresistibly appealing. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be an option. Perhaps a stiff wooden chair and hard table would have to do…

"We need to start with Defense," Moody began, and Harry heard the scratchy sound of an inked quill against parchment. "Dumbledore explicitly said to emphasize that…"

At this point, the only thing Harry was interested in practicing was his well-developed powers of not listening.

To his credit, he tried to keep his head up in vain, but the adrenaline rush that had fueled him earlier was wearing off. Eventually, he gave into the gravity pulling his eyelids down and pushed his worries temporarily to the metaphorical cupboard in the back of his mind where they would haunt his subconscious.

"…Transfiguration can also be helpful- dead useful, in tight spots…" Moody continued. He paused momentarily to glance at Harry, who was strangely silent.

Moody immediately saw why. The boy was slumped over the table, his mouth slightly open and eyes closed. He felt a twinge of compassion towards the boy as he began to snore lightly, and couldn't bring himself to wake Harry up.

Moody knew that, for the next several weeks, Harry would undergo brutally intense training, more difficult than that in the Auror camps. And Moody recalled vividly how vigorous _that_ place was…

All of the new Auror trainees had crowded through the single door leading into the conference hall for a supposed "Orientation Meeting". The trainees had sat there, twiddling their wands mindlessly, when the lights suddenly went out, leaving nothing but darkness. Before anyone had a moment to say "_Lumos_", the hall was illuminated by spells of every color flying through the air. The trainees, who had all been at the top of their classes, were reduced to a frenzied mob.

That was their entrance exam, their first lesson in the Academy, and a painful lesson at that. The Aurors told them never to walk into a room without mapping out possible exits or planning an emergency escape route first.

Alastor never made that mistake again.

At the end of the "meeting", a quarter of the trainees were left standing, and accepted into the Auror Academy. Alastor Moody had been one of them, and he was still standing today, even though most of his comrades and peers had fallen long ago.

Fighting dark wizards was by no means _fun_, it was certainly not _easy_, and it didn't really pay all that well either. It was _necessary_ to their very survival

The Wizarding World had needed Aurors to fight back then, just like they needed Harry to fight now. And Moody would teach him how to do it, for his fighting days were drawing to a close just as Harry's were beginning.

In a rare display of affection that Moody would never have shown had Harry been awake, he transfigured a cup into a blanket. He draped the blanket over Harry, and it enveloped him like a thick, warm cape.

'_Yes, transfiguration is very useful' _Moody thought to himself quietly as the corners of his scarred mouth were pulled into a smile. _'Let him sleep for now._'

And he walked out of the room, the only sounds were the soft _clunk_ of Moody's leg and Harry's soft snoring.

--

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AN: A **HUGE** thanks to my wonderful reviewers last chapter:

7sins7lies,

shrinking-violet91,

shipper10,

Sirius Fan,

CSI3Lyra,

SeaBreeze2Ga,

raneynr,

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Sarah R Potter,

azamystic,

Heavenly Dancer,

PoisedDesecration,

SwiftShadow,

RedCat8, and

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Review!!


	8. Happy Birthday, Harry!

Summary: After falling off his broomstick, Harry goes blind, but gains "the sight" in return. Professor Trewalney couldn't predict this.

Pairing: Harry/Luna

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, something for which I am sure JKR is thankful.

Previously:

'_Let him sleep for now._'

_And he walked out of the room, the only sounds were the soft clunk of Moody's leg and Harry's soft snoring. _

**Chapter Eight: **Happy Birthday, Harry!

Harry awoke with his cheek pressed against the side of the table and his arm limply hanging off the edge. He did not know whether it was day or night, so he stayed quiet, not wanting to wake up anything that might have been sleeping nearby, such a grumpy ex- Auror. Even if Harry had been able to see, there were no windows in the room to indicate any passing of time, but he had no way of knowing this. He sat up in the chair and stood up to stretch his cramped, sore legs, and winced when the chair made a screeching sound against the friction of the stone floor. Harry prayed that the stunt Moody had pulled earlier was not an accurate indication of the difficulty of future lessons. Judging by his tired body, he was not entirely confident in his chances of survival.

But Harry worded his prayer very loosely, so while the "duel", if one could call a one-sided attack a "duel", was not reflective of the level of difficultly of his lessons would prove to be- the lessons turned out to be far more challenging.

Initially, what had cheered Harry up was that he was exempt from end-of-term exams, since he could not remain at Hogwarts for the few weeks remaining in the school year. But this trace of optimism quickly faded, for instead of facing a few boring exams, he was being brutally tested physically, mentally, and emotionally every day.

Harry never thought that he would actually _miss_ cramming for exams, or pretending to study with Ron under Hermione's watchful eye, but he found himself missing it very much. 

Not that Moody was unbearable- Harry preferred it to his short-lived seer lessons with Trelawney that were fated to a premature end. Moody seemed to know Harry's limits better than Harry did and would continue to push the boy farther than Harry's own expectations.

The first lesson had been Charms.

"Charms," Harry scoffed, "How can that possibly help me against Voldemort?" Harry suddenly had the bizarre mental image of kind, gentle Professor Flitwick charming Voldemort's feet to tap-dance.

But Moody charmed Harry's tongue to stick like glue to the roof of his mouth, rendering him incapable of speech, and by the end of the lesson, Harry had a whole new appreciation for charms.

"You've got to be careful of charms in a duel," Moody warned him, "One powerful Cheering Charm, and you've surrendered the duel and asked your opponent out for tea. And your opponent probably won't appreciate the offer," he cautioned, and Harry wasn't sure whether Moody was speaking from personal experience or not.

However, Harry was sure that Voldemort would definitely decline such an offer, most likely with a polite _Avada Kedavra_.

After Charms was not a lesson on the Unforgivables, or Defense Against the Dark Arts, or any other subject Harry would have guessed. Hadn't Moody said that Dumbledore told him to emphasize Defense…? But, no, next was Herbology.

"Herbology?" Harry asked skeptically. "Am I supposed to plant Voldemort a garden, then?" What good was herbology, anyway?

As Harry wheezed "_Incendio_"with the last breath of air in his constricted lungs to repel the Devil's Snare that had been innocently placed near his bed, Harry was already formulating vague plans in the back of his mind that involved planting Devil's Snare in Aunt Petunia's vegetable garden, and using Dudley as bait to lure Voldemort to Privet Drive when he realized that his bed had caught on fire, a problem easily fixed with a quick "_Auguamenti_".

Now that he could think more clearly, Harry realized with disappointment that Dudley wouldn't work as bait, seeing as Voldemort had little to no interest in Muggles. Aunt Petunia would probably end up trying to use the Devil's Snare in a salad for Dudley's diet anyway, and as much as Harry disliked the Dursleys, Voldemort was much higher on his "To Kill" list. In fact, the Dursleys weren't even on the "To Kill" list at all. They were somewhere on the list of "Annoying Relatives to Avoid at All Cost", which was a very short list, not because Harry got along so well with his family, but because he didn't have many surviving relatives to avoid anymore. But it seemed like a shame to waste perfectly fatal Devil's Snare on his obnoxious relatives. So much for that plan.

Harry asked Moody testily how he was supposed to know that Devil's Snare was sitting by his bed and waiting to suffocate him in his sleep without seeing it.

"Devil's Snare has a distinct scent of brimstone," Moody replied gruffly, as if it were common knowledge. "Can't you smell it?"

And sure enough, Harry could smell the burnt remains of Devil's Snare, a scent he recalled from his first year, a distinct odor of fire and brimstone.

"Professor?" Harry asked Moody one day after a particularly hard lesson. "When are we going to…you know… practice _real _magic?"

Harry could practically hear Moody's deep frown.

"You want to do _real_ magic, eh, Potter? And what have we been practicing? _ Fake_ magic, I suppose? Well, we're going to be practicing wandless card tricks next, so stay tuned for that!" Moody suggested sarcastically. Harry wisely stayed silent, a surprisingly effective technique he had learned early on.

"Look, Potter, no one ever beat Voldemort because of they had better understanding of Dark Magic than he did." After a moment of thought, he added, "Well, no one has _ever_ really defeated Voldemort yet, but that's beside the point. You won't have a counter spell for every curse he throws at you. You're going to have to use your head, Potter. In your second year, you didn't need magic at all to destroy Riddle's diary, did you? All that Dark Magic that Voldemort used to create it was undone with a Basilisk fang."

Harry mulled over this information slowly. It made sense, he had escaped Voldemort with an "_Expelliamus_" in his fourth year, and that wasn't very advanced at all. Maybe it wasn't the spell you used, but how you used it.

"Spells don't win duels," Moody continued slowly, so Harry could commit every word to memory, "But instinct doesn't win duels either. The trick is for the spells to becomeinstinctive."

They moved quickly on to Transfiguration. Harry had trouble visualizing the objects he was trying to transfigure, naturally, because he could not see them.

After many frustrating lessons, Moody graciously offered that they take a break and play a game of chess. Harry had never been exceptionally talented at chess. That had always been Ron's area of expertise, Harry thought, and felt a pang of sadness. He had not seen Ron for what seemed like ages.

Harry was grateful that Wizard's Chess was more auditory than Muggle Chess, and that he was very familiar with the game after hours of losing to Ron. He proved to be more than a worthy opponent against Moody as they commanded their pieces across the board.

"Knight to B3," Harry ordered. He frowned slightly when he did not hear the sound of the Knight sliding across the board in an "L" shape to its designated square.

"Knight to B3," he repeated loudly.

He repeated his orders to the unresponsive chess piece until he heard Moody's unconcealed laughter- a mixture between a harsh chuckle and a gruff bark. Harry felt around the chess board, knocking down a few pieces in the process.

"You've stolen my knight!" Harry accused, unable to find it on the board.

"I did no such thing," Moody replied, sounding slightly offended but mostly amused. "I'm above stealing chess pieces from the blind, Potter," he said in defense.

Harry was silent for a moment, his fingers running nimbly over the surface of an extra pawn that was not on the correct square.

"Maybe so…" Harry said, "But you're _not_ above transfiguring their knights into pawns!" He held up the pawn, successfully transfigured it back into a knight, and placed it back on the board. "Knight to B3," he said with confidence, and grinned in satisfaction as he heard his knight demolishing Moody's king.

"You know Potter, you're supposed to say 'checkmate' before you do that," Moody reminded.

"Yeah, I know," Harry acknowledged, "I guess that makes two of us who don't follow the rules sometimes".

"Only sometimes?" Moody asked with a laugh.

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"Sir? Why can't I get magical eyes like yours?" Harry asked a few weeks later. He had been wondering that very question for months, and thought being able to see through Invisibility Cloaks would be a dramatic improvement from his current state.

Moody cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable with the question.

"True, I did get a magical eye… but at a very high price, Potter," Moody said gravely.

"Well, I've probably got enough money if that's - "

"No, Potter," Moody said, "That's not the price I'm talking about. There are more valuable things than money. The body isn't meant to have parts be replaced with magic, it gets…complicated …" Moody trailed off.

"Complicated?" Harry prodded, his curiosity piqued.

"Complicated," Moody affirmed. He seemed to search for the words to continue for a moment, wanting to properly explain such a personal topic. "I made a… sacrifice. My eye is a powerful magical object, and using it drains the life-force of the wizard significantly. Every day that I use it, I get weaker. Oh, no, it's a slow process," Moody added at Harry's shocked gasp, "Old Mad-Eye's got a few years left in him still. But… messing with this sort of thing is dangerous business."

"What about… your other eye?" Harry asked quietly.

"Don't you see, Potter? Every day I give some of my life to sustain my eye – not by choice- but because I'm dependent on it now. If I were to get rid of it, the results could be much worse."

"Um, sir, can I ask…why?"

"Why? Why did I do it? I was an Auror, just graduated from the Academy, full of insatiable ambition and unfulfilled dreams. I didn't trust myself to fight decently with one eye, so I gained some things… and lost others." He lowered his voice and said, "I made a sacrifice, Potter. And what makes a sacrifice so powerful, so important, is that you can't undo it. It might not be smart, or fair, or even right, but once it's done, there's no turning back."

Harry thought about his mother, and how she had died to save him. He thought about his father, who had died defending his family. He thought about Sirius, who had died fighting for Harry. He thought about the sacrifices he had made, and undoubtedly would make in the future, and suddenly sacrifices of his childhood, his happiness, and his sight all seemed to pale in comparison.

As the months passed, Harry became more absorbed with his training until he lost complete track of time. So when several voices shouted "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" as he walked into a room, he had his wand out in a flash and a curse on his lips before he realized that it was a surprise party for him.

"Easy, mate," he heard Ron's voice say casually, "It's us." Harry immediately lowered his wand and smiled.

Ron told him all about how the last few weeks of the Quidditch season at Hogwarts had been absolute rubbish, and how Draco Malfoy had quit the Slytherin team in order to "dedicate himself to his studies".

"Studying, yeah right," Ron said through a mouthful of Harry's birthday cake, "Obviously he quit because he'll never be able to beat you now!" he said confidently. After he swallowed his mouthful of cake, Ron added passionately, "Not that he ever could beat you _before_, of course! Slytherin didn't win another game all year, and they shouldn't have won against us either. Harry, you're a thousand times better than they could ever hope to be!" he declared.

Harry nearly burst with happiness from Ron's indignation on his behalf, but the unspoken Man Code between them would never allow for such a display of girly emotion, so he said a casual, "Thanks, Ron."

Staying true to the Man Code rules, Ron did not say "You're welcome, Harry" and merely grunted nonchalantly. They both laughed, secretly bursting with happiness, and there was nothing more that needed to be said between the two friends that they didn't already know.

Hermione talked non-stop about how she had failed her exams – "_All _of themHarry!" – and how she had mixed up the Goblin Revolution of 1147 with the Goblin Revolution of 1374- and how could she possibly have made such an amateur mistake - one was about Goblin's economic rights, the other was about Goblin's _political_ rights – "_Completely _different!" and…

"Hermione," Ron said exasperatedly, "If _you_, the brightest witchin the year, failed, then _I_, a fairly average student must - "

"Ron, don't flatter yourself," Harry interrupted with a wicked smile on his face. "Average? You mean an average _first year_, right?" he teased, which was perfectly within the laws of the Man Code.

"Well- as I was _saying_," Ron continued, pretending as if he had not heard Harry; choosing to ignore people was also allowed by the Man-Code, "If you failed, then I must have scored in the negatives."

Hermione blushed and mumbled something embarrassedly, but she did not deny the truth in Ron's statement.

Fred and George told Harry that the Joke Shop was going well- they were thinking of offering Hogwarts student discounts… except for the Slytherins, of course, who were not included in this offer. Instead, the Slytherins would be subject to a 15 "Git Tax".

"I'm not sure you're allowed to do that," Harry said, although the idea greatly appealed to him.

"Why not? We don't want Junior Death Eaters buying our stuff. They've been buying our stuff like mad, but we don't like selling it to them" George said.

"It takes the edge away from the Gryffindor's pranks if the merchandise becomes too widely available," Fred explained.

"Plus, we've already got some products we don't want in Slytherin hands at Hogwarts."

"At least, not until Ginny's graduated," Fred reconsidered.

"And by then, it'll be outdated, and we'll have tons of new stuff we'll use against them!" George said excitedly.

"Helping generation after generation of Gryffindors get back at Slytherin scum," Fred said, pretending to cry. It was allowed in the Man Code to _pretend _to cry in public- but ONLY for the purpose of humor.

"I know you will," Harry said sincerely, "It'll be a Hogwarts legend, I expect, the story of the Weasley twins!" And they would have their own legacy one day, but not for the reasons Harry thought. "How are you two running that huge shop by yourselves, anyway?"

"Oh- we're not!" George said, "We hired Luna over the summer- Oy, Luna!" he shouted across the room.

Harry heard the sound of light footsteps and gentle laugher drift closer, and the melodic voice of Luna Lovegood said pleasantly , "Hello, Fred, George. And Harry! Happy Birthday!" He felt two warm arms envelope him and a developed chest press gently against him in a tender hug- Merlin, what was that intoxicating aroma? It smelled vaguely of summer flowers, sweet honey, and freshly picked radishes… Harry was dimly are that he nodded in thanks, trying to keep to the Man Code rules, but his knees suddenly felt weak, though he didn't quite know why. He'd always had knobby knees, but after such intense physical torture- I mean, _tutoring- _with Moody, he'd thought his legs would have gotten much stronger.

"Er…," he said. Rule #53 in Man Code: _Act_ _disarmingly suave at all times!_ But there were some rules Harry could not follow even if he tried. "Er…," he started again, trying to rearrange the two letters into something more eloquent. "Re…" Okay! That was start! "Re… Really good of you come, Luna!" Harry said, feeling accomplished at completing a coherent sentence.

"Oh, no problem," Luna said. "Fred and George invited me, and it sounded like fun. Plus, we haven't seen you in ages."

"Er…," Harry repeated. Dammit, he was past this! Pull yourself together, man! "So, I hear you're working at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes," he recovered.

"Yeah," Luna said happily, "They hired me at the start of the summer. I just restock the shelves, decorate the shop sometimes, that sort of thing. But it's loads of fun with Fred and George! They're really funny," she said admiringly.

"Yeah, great," Harry said, not thinking it was great at all. Harry was surprised at how his heart nearly leapt out of his ribcage with a fit of jealousy at her apparently close relationship with the Weasley twins. He took a few breaths to calm himself down, and the envy began to ebb away.

"You should come to the shop sometime," Luna suggested, "Maybe you could even stay for a while. There's plenty of room upstairs."

Harry's jaw dropped. Was she suggesting…? No, she couldn't be… could she? And to Harry's immense horror, the blood stopped pounding in his heart, only to go somewhere further south.

"Fred and George have a flat upstairs," Luna continued, and Harry felt a bitter mixture of disappointment and relief, "And there's a spare room, if you'd like."

"Yeah, Harry, we wouldn't mind." Fred agreed.

"You could get out of this prison for a while," George said.

Harry wanted to tell them that it _wasn't _a prison, but he couldn't deny that he longed to spend time with his friends. And Luna. Luna wasn't in the category of friends, though; she was right in-between friend and… something more.

The fact that Luna was at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes did not make the idea seem more appealing to Harry. Nope. Not at all.

///\\\

Albus Dumbledore paced in his office restlessly. The floor was worn from many Headmaster's footsteps, but there seemed to be a distinct path in the floor where Dumbledore was pacing.

Perhaps it was because he had been pacing for hours and hours. Or, perhaps the weight on his shoulders had materialized and was deepening the path Dumbledore was treading back and forth, for Dumbledore's heart felt heavier with sorrow than ever.

He gazed uselessly into the misty pensive, searching for a clue he had overlooked, or a small detail that would make the rest of the puzzle fall into place. Alas, there was nothing hidden in the pensive except for bad memories. He was grasping in thin air for ideas, each more unlikely than the next. And so, without even the pale company of the moon to comfort him, Dumbledore paced.

"_Happy birthday, Harry_," he thought sadly. These days of Harry's happiness were numbered, and Dumbledore was regretfully counting them down.

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AN: Is this length okay? Was the Harry/Luna okay?

About the "Man Code" – I'm a girl, so I don't pretend to know much about men besides what we learn in Biology and Health class. Ahem. Sorry if I don't understand the male psyche very well! Anyway…

THANKS TO: **Willow-bee the cat, luna me and the slithery dee, AzNpRinCeSsWaRrioR, CSI3Lyra, SwiftShadow, SeaBreeze2Ga, raneynr, momocolady, azamystic, almostinsane**

Review!!


	9. Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes

Summary: After falling off his broomstick, Harry goes blind, but gains "the sight" in return. Professor Trelawney couldn't predict this.

Pairing: Harry/Luna

Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me, although my heart does belong to him.

AN: Hi everyone. Sorry this hasn't been updated in forever. I haven't forgotten about it, but I've had a lot of health problems in the past year, and it's just been really hard to get to that calm mental place I need to be in to write. I'm terribly sorry. I hope you accept my apology in the form of a new chapter.

**Thank you to Reviewer of the West, Lazy Ass Bastard, chaoswizard, moonpower02, MusicMaven09, Aly Martin, raneynr, Ranger Dragon, Lepus Iratus, amanda burke, CSI3Lyra, -AzNpRinCeSsWaRrioR-, Dadaiiro, almostinsane, NaginiFay and Swift Shadow. You guys rock my world!**

Previously:  
  
_The fact that Luna was at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes did not make the idea seem more appealing to Harry. Nope. Not at all.  
///\\\  
"Happy birthday, Harry," he thought sadly. These days of Harry's happiness were numbered, and Dumbledore was regretfully counting them down._

**Chapter Nine:**

Harry tiptoed down the hallway towards Moody's chambers, his hands gripping the stone walls for support and guidance and his mind formulating a plan to persuade Moody to grant him permission to visit the joke shop. All of Moody's tactics and strategic techniques were beginning to rub off on Harry as he analyzed Moody's personality and priorities in order to create a persuasive argument that would convince Moody that going to the joke shop was absolutely necessary. He mentally listed all of Moody's qualities that he could use his advantage; mainly, paranoia, pessimism, and a twisted sense of practicality.

Lost in thought, Harry's mind drifted as his hand trailed along the rough wall until it felt the smooth wood. Coming to his senses, he realized that there were hushed voices behind the door and strained to catch fragments of the muted conversation...

"_I don't think…"_

"…_for his sake as much as ours…"_

"_...running out of time…"_

Harry pressed his ear against the door and was as quiet as he could possibly be, and the words became a bit more audible…

"_There is another, who could…"_

"…_a traitor, you mean…"_

"…_our only hope…"_

"…You must act as you see fit, and I will do the same. But as we are both concerned with confidentiality, it might interest you to know that this conversation is no longer private. Come in, Harry!" said Moody's voice, speaking purposely loud so the sound reached Harry's ears loud and clear. Harry jumped away from the door as if it were on fire, and fought the blush that he feared colored his face red with embarrassment. He did not want to be thought an eavesdropper, for surely then Dumbledore would never trust him with any information.

He twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open. His steps into the room were confident and sure after many hours counting the steps from wall to wall of the house. "Sorry," Harry said apologetically, hanging his head in shame meekly.

"Quite alright, Harry," Dumbledore said kindly. "How can we help you today?"

_Take a deep breath. Remember: paranoia, pessimism, and practicality. _"IwannagotoFredandGeorge'sshopinDiagonAlley," he blurted quickly. "Please," he added as an after thought.

"Absolutely not," said Moody immediately. "It's not safe. This is no time for field trips and slumber parties, Potter."

"Fred and George have their shop booby-trapped, sir. There's no way Death Eaters could get in without setting off fireworks and getting cursed."

"Booby-traps!" Moody scoffs. "Since when did those stop Voldemort?"

"Voldemort wouldn't break into a _joke shop_, especially not one so close to the Ministry," Harry argued.

"It's asking for trouble, boy," Moody warned.

"I don't _ask_ for trouble. It follows me around everywhere, so it doesn't matter whether it's here, Hogwarts, or Diagon Alley does it?"

"I'd prefer to keep a close eye on you," Moody said grumpily.

"That's what Voldemort would expect," Harry pointed out. "He'll expect me to be locked up tighter than Gringotts. This way, I can stay under the radar."

"Under the _what?_" Moody asked, confused.

"The radar," Harry explained. "It's a muggle thing, and… What it means is that we shouldn't be predictable."

"You're being _predictably_ unpredictable, so that doesn't count."

"I'm being _unpredictably_ predictable," Harry corrected, "which is the most difficult predictability to predict."

"Gentlemen," Dumbledore interrupted. "While this is a riveting argument, perhaps we can come to an agreement. Harry will stay at the Weasley's shop for one week, and we will take every precaution possible, I assure you Alastor."

"But Albus," Moody started, his voice low and urgent. "Potter must be—"

"Bored out his mind!" Dumbledore finished. "I'm so glad we've settled this like adults. Run along now Harry; Alastor and I have more to discuss, and I would not want to bore you any more than I already have."

Harry grinned so hard he felt like his face would split in half. "Thank you, sir!" he said gratefully. There was a definite bounce to his step as he hurried and stumbled out of the room before Moody could protest further.

Moody turned to Dumbledore and frowned. "You've gone soft, Dumbledore," he accused.

Dumbledore smiled fondly. "So have you, Alastor."

"Me?" Moody sputtered. "I'm—"

"Being overprotective? Scared for Harry's safety? Acting like a worried parent? Yes, you are all of the above, but the important thing is that Harry is happy and alive."

"The two don't necessarily go hand in hand, Albus," Moody pointed out.

"Ah," Dumbledore sighed. "Is an unhappy life so much better than death? I do not think so. Unhappiness is simply death in another form; it kills the heart and spares the body."

"Like I said, Dumbledore. You've gone soft," Moody growled angrily. "This is _war. _It takes the lives of young men and women, it turns wives to widows, it spreads fear and despair and hate like the plague. It's _full_ of unhappiness."

"All the more reason to encourage Harry's happiness. He needs this, Alastor."

"He also needs oxygen and a beating heart. Albus, you know that war can rip apart the closest of families and destroys the oldest of friendships. Have you not learned from your mistakes?"

Dumbledore stood quietly for a moment. "History teaches us that mankind repeats his mistakes, over and over again," he said softly, pinning Moody with an intense gaze. "Civilizations are doomed to rise and fall like the turning tides of change, but good always triumphs in the end. Have faith in me, Alastor."

"I do have faith in you, Albus. That's not the problem," Moody explained gruffly. "It's the rest of the world I don't trust."

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Diagon Alley was buzzing with noise and excitement. The shoppers were dressed in vividly colored robes and browsed the old shelves of Flourish & Blotts, the children licked exotic flavored ice cream cones from Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour that were charmed not to melt in even the most scorching of summer days, and young athletes admired the sleek racing brooms behind the glass windows of Quality Quidditch Supplies.

Oh, Quidditch. Harry missed the feel of the broom in his gloved hands, the rush of wind in his hair, the glimmer of the golden snitch in the corner of his eye. Most of all, he missed the sensation of being free, of defying gravity and surpassing expectations. The nostalgia quickly evaporated into gloom; Harry knew that he'd never fly again. Harry recalled scent of the freshly cut grass on the Quidditch field and the echoes of the roaring crowd briefly before they faded into the memories of a distant past.

The laughter and noise in Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes drowned out the distant noises of Diagon Alley so that all Harry could hear was the sound of small explosions, giggling children and the voice of Fred saying, "This way, Harry." Fred held on to Harry's arm and steered him to a quiet room in the back of the shop.

Hermione and Ron were bickering in the back room. "Would it be too difficult for you to tidy up this mess? I mean, really," Hermione said disapprovingly. Harry heard her gathering papers and moving books.

"Hermione!" exclaimed Ron. "Don't touch that! It's a very _organized_ state of chaos, you see. And you wouldn't want to disorganize it, would you now?" Hermione huffed a sigh, but stopped shuffling the papers.

"Sorry to interrupt the unresolved sexual tension, but this is _our_ office, and we have a guest," George said, pushing Harry forward. "Ron, go help Luna in the shop. It's mad out there." Harry's heart skipped a beat at Luna's name.

"Harry!" Ron exclaimed. "You made it! Brilliant, I've been going _insane _keeping Hermione company—"

"You've already gone insane if you think I won't drag you out to the shop myself," Fred said darkly. "Go away, Ronniekins." Grumbling and dragging his feet, Ron went back to the shop to help Luna, with Hermione scolding him the entire way.

"Alright," said George. "We have a surprise for you. We'd tell you to close your eyes and not peek, but I suppose that's another advantage of being blind, eh?"

Harry laughed. "Oh, sure. There's always a surprise, whether it's in the form of a crack in the sidewalk or a new prank."

"This isn't really a _prank, _you see," Fred assured. He put a helmet on Harry's head, thin gloves on his hands, and strapped him into a chair of some sort.

"Should I be scared? Because I kind of am," said Harry nervously, fidgeting in the chair.

"No way! You'll love this, just wait 'till you try it—"

"Guys?" Harry asked anxiously. "What's going on?"

"It's a memory simulator," Fred explained. "It recreates your old memories and lets you relive them! Pretty smart, eh?"

In the back of Harry's mind, he started seeing flashes of memories. The first time he ever held a broom, diving for the snitch, the wind against his face, the smell of broomstick varnish, the feel of the Quidditch robes against his skin. All the details of flying came to the forefront of Harry's mind in a blur. And then— he _felt _it. He felt the wind in his hair, smelled mixed aroma of wood and sweat, saw the Quidditch field from a bird's eye view…

"Brilliant," Harry whispered in awe. He felt the broomstick, firm yet pliable in his hands. He felt the snitch in his palm, the wings flapping helplessly against the firm grip of Harry's fingers. The snitch felt real and solid in his empty hand. And then, the snitch slipped away and his broom fell out from underneath him, and Harry was falling, hard and fast, spiraling down into the darkness…

Harry let out a piercing scream and began to thrash wildly in his seat against the restraints. Fred and George leapt into action, yanked the helmet off Harry's head and ripped the gloves of Harry's hands. Harry's body went limp in Fred's arms, and Fred shook him frantically. "Harry!" he yelled. "Harry!"

"What happened?" asked George anxiously.

"I don't know," Fred answered. "Wait," he said as Harry began to stir. "I think he's coming 'round."

"M'okay," Harry murmured wearily.

"God, Harry, we're so sorry," George apologized.

"We don't know what went wrong," Fred said, "but we'll fix it. We should never have given it to you until we did more testing on it."

"I guess there must still be some glitches," George added remorsefully.

"No, it was awesome," Harry objected, holding his head in his hands until it stopped spinning. "I loved it, really."

"But— you nearly passed out, Harry!"

"It was brilliant," Harry insisted and rubbed his temple. "Thank you for this. You know how much Quidditch means to me, and I got to relive some of it for a moment. That means the world to me."

"Harry, are you sure you're okay?" George asked speculatively.

"Is it your scar, Harry?" Fred asked worriedly.

"No… just a little dehydrated," Harry answered with a weak smile.

"_Aguamenti_," Fred muttered, filling a glass with water and handing it to Harry, who drank it all at once in large gulps. His head ached like it had been split open with a hammer, and he wasn't sure if it was because of Voldemort or the shock of re-living his last Quidditch match.

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